


edges of the world

by princegrantaire



Series: little by little [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice Society of America (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Gay Character, Coming Out, Father-Son Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: More importantly, he’s got nothing to apologise for, Todd knows that now. He just wishes Alan knew it. It’s not like he’s chomping at the bit to get his absent father back in the picture, it’s just--Curiosity, at worst.(Todd's been seeing Damon for five months. He and Alan are in desperate need of a talk.)
Relationships: Damon Matthews/Todd Rice
Series: little by little [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044231
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	edges of the world

**Author's Note:**

> partially this is something i've been meaning to write for quite a while but, mostly, i recently watched "fun home" (the musical!) and it awakened Certain Feelings in me as alison's relationship with her dad seemed like the perfect mirror of what todd's got going on with alan. not much context required besides a general knowledge of who todd is, references events from JSA (1999) darkness falls and princes of darkness arcs, as well as the relationship between todd & damon that started in manhunter #18.
> 
> heads up for the canon divergence tag! while all of this is ostensibly set in canon, i've made an effort at streamlining it for my own purposes but the extent of that being: molly IS the twins' mother (jennie's powers come from alan, todd's from ian karkull as usual), thorn never happened, the kids were never adopted by someone else and alan is gay but has been deeply deeply closeted his entire life (as i still think the new 52 Situation should've played out).
> 
> ALL MY LOVE & THANKS TO @SLAAPKAT FOR SUPPORTING ME ALWAYS THROUGH EVERYTHING!!!! (AND FOR BEING A GOT DAMN GENIUS)

“Hey-- Alan. I know Jennie told you, so… call me back? Maybe? Okay, bye.”

 _Stupid_.

Todd cringes as he hangs up, shoves the phone back in his pocket with a little more force than strictly necessary. He’s been seeing Damon for what, five months now? It’d seemed like a step in the right direction, letting Jennie tell Alan. It’s their usual means of communication, good news and bad, all imparted via his sister. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Alan since he’d first said it out loud.

He’s not sure what he’d expected.

Their mom knows, of course. She’s even met Damon, all polite and smiling through her teeth. Todd, despite himself, had appreciated the effort, it’s more than Alan’s ever done at any rate.

As a hero -- and, emergencies aside, he hasn’t played that role for quite some time -- there had been limits to how far disaster could stretch until it hit embarrassment. He’d heard, during those aimless teenage years when therapy was yet to take and the shadows consuming him had seemed deeper, of men like Hal Jordan and Hank Hall. Respected heroes who’d lost it at all and then some, who had made it through their personal apocalypses and come out smiling on the other side of it. The key, Todd had learned, was a _reason_.

Death of a loved one.

A lost city.

Just-- a reason. _He_ has none. It’s why being Green Lantern’s schizophrenic son got lacklustre hard and fast. Then, in light of certain realisations years in the making, it’d become obvious Todd’s got it all, worst of both worlds.

It’s easier now, heroics left to the professionals and no jealousy harboured towards Jennie when he’s saving the world in his own small way through the social worker job he’d miraculously landed even after a too-long stint in a psych ward. These days, he’s even got Damon.

And, more importantly, he’s got nothing to apologise for, Todd knows that now. He just wishes _Alan_ knew it. It’s not like he’s chomping at the bit to get his absent father back in the picture, it’s just--

Curiosity, at worst.

Supposedly, Alan’s fine with it but, as with most messages conveyed through Jennie, the sentiment fails to reach Todd. _Fine_ could mean any number of things. Todd doesn’t presume to be familiar with his father’s comings and goings, let alone his innermost thoughts, but it doesn’t take much effort to doubt the guy who’s lived through great chunks of the early 20th century and still subscribes to most of its values thinks it’s _fine_. He is, after all, the very same man who’s neglected to get back to Todd after his fifth voicemail of the day.

Still, Todd’s not stupid. His suspicions have only grown since Alan’s left home. He’s got years under his belt of hearing his mother cry on the phone to Joan Garrick late at night after Jennie had already gone to bed and he’d been still working on controlling the shadows climbing up his arms when darkness fell. Were Alan a genuine product of his time, Todd wouldn’t bother but there _is_ something to him and it’s not just the ramshackle hopes of a kid longing for an explanation beyond _irreconcilable differences_.

If Alan’s looking to be forgiven, an acknowledgement of Todd’s general existence would be a nice start.

\---

“Oh my _god_ , I’m gonna kill him.”

Damon has the decency to look mildly worried, just a quick glance from where he’s hunched over some paperwork Kate Spencer had sent up the other day. He’s been alternatively sighing and frowning at it during the course of the evening, which Todd can’t take as a particularly good sign.

“Who?” he asks, eventually. Damon’s sweet like that, genuinely concerned about upcoming murderous urges and such. He’s even taken off his reading glasses, which Todd’s always found devastatingly cute, even back in court.

“Jennie says that _Alan_ said he’s sorry for not getting back to me,” Todd explains, somewhere between bitter and, frankly, amused. “Bet I’d have better luck calling his actual secretary at this rate.”

For a moment, Damon seems to consider that, like he’s just about ready to convince Todd to go ahead and make an appointment at GBC. What he does, instead, is give up on the papers and crawl back into bed, rumpled shirt and tie and traces of exhaustion around the eyes. He’s had a couple late nights courtesy of this current case, still filling in forms on his laptop long after Todd had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Not a bad look on him, though it’s hard to believe anything in the vicinity of that exists to begin with.

“How about we ambush him tomorrow?” Damon suggests, cupping Todd’s face when he starts laughing. “What? I know it means a lot to you!”

Todd’s never had anything like it. In all honesty, he never thought he would. On the few occasions he lets himself think about it too long, tears threaten to well up. He doesn’t know what it means, though his therapist -- biweekly sessions, even now -- claims it can’t be all bad if Damon feels like home.

And he _does_. Todd can’t imagine letting go.

“Well, I know _someone’s_ gotta prep for trial tomorrow,” he points out, smiling.

He kisses Damon then because it’s easy and warm and Todd’s never been good with resisting temptation. Somewhere along the line, wanting to kiss his boyfriend has left that laundry list of _What’s wrong with Todd Scott today?_ and maybe that’s close enough to progress. Damon melts easily against him, hands gripping Todd’s thighs, and it’s perfect until--

The buzzing in his pocket makes them both jump.

Momentarily disoriented, Todd rests his forehead against Damon’s, laughing breathlessly at the interruption. His phone’s still buzzing away. “Alarm,” he mumbles when it dawns on him that it’s most likely past 7 PM.

“Yup.”

“Oh, shit, my meds.”

“Yeah,” Damon agrees again, though he’s laughing now, too. His eyes have gone all soft, like he can’t quite contain all that fondness. Todd doesn’t doubt he’s looking much the same way. He gets in one more kiss before Damon starts pushing him towards the kitchen. “Don’t take them with soda again!” he shouts after Todd.

“I won’t!”

He likes to keep his promises.

\---

Historically, Jennie’s got the worst taste in boyfriends the world has ever seen. Todd loves her dearly, he really does, but he’s never been able to find any explanation for the bums she chooses to shack up with.

“You sound like daddy,” she says.

There’s also _that_.

“Jesus Christ, Jen, what are you, twelve?” Todd whispers over the too-sweet coffee Jennie prefers and consistently insists on getting for him as well if he happens to be anywhere over five minutes late to their monthly meet-ups. “Anyway, all I’m saying is that _whatshisname_ doesn’t deserve a second chance.”

“Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle. Isn’t he like, a Lantern?” He takes a sip of coffee, takes a moment to swallow and makes some sort of face Jennie must find particularly offensive.

They get a few stares, which isn’t new nor rare, and it doesn’t make Todd’s stomach turn any less than usual. At the very least, it helps to know the vast majority of them are addressed to the green lady across the table rather than due to some preternatural knowledge that he’s gay and still having some trouble conceptualising the normalcy of that in public.

“Lots of people are Lanterns, Todd. _I’ve_ been a Lantern,” Jennie says, crossing her arms. “And it’s not like I’m moving in with him again, I’m just gonna be his date at a gallery opening. That’s not so bad, right?”

It’s _worse_ , Todd wants to say but his sister’s clearly looking for approval here. He knows what that’s like.

“Sure, okay, yeah,” he relents, “but if he breaks your heart again you _have_ to let me see him.”

“Duh! You can do the sleep paralysis thing.”

The _sleep paralysis thing_ being, of course, Todd’s favourite hobby between the ages of ten and fifteen. Most days, he still counts it as the one good part of… Obsidian. Back then, Jennie had just fallen into a short-lived love of horror movies -- an affair that would end prematurely with the appearance of the shadow entity at the foot of her bed. Their mom had been worried sick for ages, well aware of the kind of things Alan had messed with in the JSA’s heyday that could’ve followed him home, until Todd had confessed to the prank. Coincidentally, it was around that time the insistence that he see Dr. Crest had grown.

In hindsight, it means a great deal to him that Jennie can, if nothing else, laugh about it now.

“You know what? I’d love that,” Todd admits. He really would, he’s sure Kyle deserves it regardless of how things end up with him and Jennie. In a feat of incredible willpower -- and who wrote the book on _that_ again? -- Todd’s even managed to finish his coffee. Liquid courage, in a manner of speaking. In fact, it might as well be, it’s not like he’s allowed to drink with the meds he’s on.

But that’s not why he’s here.

“Do you ever miss it?” Jennie asks out of the blue, pausing a cursory scroll through her Instagram feed and looking somewhat surprised by her own courage.

They’ve never quite discussed it before.

“Infinity, Inc.? I mean, sometimes, yeah. You, me, Al and the gang had a good time.” Todd shrugs, unsure of what’s being asked of him. Al’s-- _fear_ had complicated some things, delayed others. He’s not about to blame anyone for his own misfortune but back then, well, it’d been all too easy to believe there _was_ something wrong with him. So, he tries not to keep in touch, accepts whatever distance his former best friend needs and often leaves it at that. It’s a distant ache, by now. “Don’t tell me you called up Hank, too,” he adds, trying and undoubtedly failing to lighten the mood.

“Last I heard he was still institutionalised,” Jennie says, quiet.

That’s one thing he and Hank had in common. Todd’s made it out though, he _intends_ to stay out. On the subject of brighter beginnings, he texts Damon a heart emoji for no real reason and puts his phone down, halfway unwilling to continue this trip down memory lane. “Listen, Jen, have you heard anything from Alan?”

Jennie sighs, defeated like she’s been trying to avoid the exact reason Todd’s made it here in the first place. “Kinda?” she offers, playing with her bracelets -- one of which, oddly enough, Todd faintly recognises as a 18th birthday present from the man of the hour himself. Alan has his moments of good taste, rare as they are. “You should talk to him. Like, actually visit him or something, you know how dad is with phones.”

 _I should talk to him?!_ is what Todd just barely stops himself from shouting. He doesn’t have Alan’s predisposition towards dramatics at short notice. He _doesn’t_. It’s just--

He’s left half a million texts and more than his share of voicemails.

Alan owes him a visit, maybe more, maybe an apology, and certainly not the other way around. He’s not gonna get either. That’s the worst of it, isn’t it? Jennie’s right. The golden girl’s always right. Todd breaths in and out, hopes there’s nothing obvious about it. “Would he even wanna see me?”

“Yes.” Jennie doesn’t even hesitate. “Are you kidding? _Always_.”

\---

As a rule, Todd dedicates his days off to the noble pursuit of spending time with Damon. It’s a good system, gives him something tangible to look forward to when the days start feeling endless _and_ the opportunity to rediscover a startling number of restaurants that Alan and Uncle Ted had gushed about back when Todd hadn’t ever thought he’d be living in Gotham. Today, he’s clutching a GBC pamphlet in the skyrail’s last car, listless as he watches the stations go by. A less than ideal start to a less than ideal day.

He likes to think Alan’s proximity is a mere side-effect of the move.

In a way, Todd’s lived all over. The house he’d grown up in just outside Metropolis, hitchhiking across the Midwest in his haste to leave home, the psych ward in New York and the job in LA -- the latter is where he’d met Damon, at the time comfortably occupying the position of soon-to-be second youngest DA Gotham’s ever had. Eventually, it’d seemed natural to make the move. Easy. He’s yet to regret it.

Until now, that is.

The trip’s far too short. Todd fumbles with his MetroCard, seldom used, on the way out and goes by the vague directions on the pamphlet, half-jokingly picked up by Jennie last time she’d been around.

He doesn’t know why he’d kept it.

GBC is hard to miss. Old Gotham’s one skyscraper stands proud, all steel beams and concrete, once a testament to the city’s rapid industrialization. It’s been renovated a few times over -- he remembers a couple of years fraught with budgetary arguments and Alan’s obsession with taking taxis everywhere in the absence of an ability to drive -- but Todd, unfamiliar with the finer points of architecture or the building itself, can’t tell what’s changed. There’s a fountain out front that seems downright unnecessary.

After a beat, and a few steadying breaths, Todd walks in with only the usual amount of trepidation feeding the growing hole in his stomach. Shadows fail to consume any part of him though, he’s not sinking into familiar darkness.

He’s here.

He just wants to _talk_.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say he’s got nothing to lose and just about everything to gain. If Alan refuses to-- if he’s really got some problem with how Todd’s chosen to live his life--

Not a single thing changes.

The thought shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

Inside GBC, Todd is hit by overeager air-conditioning and the distinct impression that he’s stepped into the golden age lobby of some grand hotel. All expectations of the hustle and bustle of a deceptively busy company fall flat. In fact, now, on a Saturday at midday, the reception area’s been deserted and all that’s left to greet him is a young secretary subtly dabbing at her eyes with a tissue already smeared with mascara, dejectedly gazing into a compact mirror.

“Hi, I’m here to see Alan,” Todd says, awkward and feeling just a touch underdressed. “Are you okay?” It’s an afterthought, he’s always been hopeless with public displays of… anything, to be fair.

The secretary, whose name tag reads _Eileen_ , stiffens at the question. It belatedly strikes Todd that she’s been crying, rather than checking her makeup.

“Mr. Scott went home for the day,” Eileen manages, sniffling a little.

“Home. Like, upstairs? The penthouse?”

Eileen looks surprised, Alan’s whereabouts might not be public knowledge. “Well, yes but--”

There are a number of questions to be asked here. Back in the Infinity, Inc. days, Todd had learned to trust his gut, he’d _had_ to. Connecting the dots, however, is often unpleasant. It’s easy to guess Alan had made his secretary cry, less so to know what he’s meant to do about it. Ultimately, Eileen’s misery might just stay her own.

“Look, I’m his son,” Todd starts and finds that he hates playing that card, “can’t you just tell me how to get there or something?”

“Mr. Scott has a son? I thought Jennifer--”

 _Wow_.

To her credit, Eileen recovers quickly, flushes slightly while she’s at it. “Um, I’m not sure if you need a key but it’s just the last floor. Elevator’s that way,” she nods to her right, “and I think Mr. Scott’s apartment is the only one on the floor.”

Todd thanks her and, as he goes about his way, wishes desperately he knew the right words. 

It occurs to him Jennie would’ve said something.

She would’ve _stayed_ and helped.

\---

The mounting list of regrets only grows on the elevator ride to the penthouse and by the time the doors open, Todd doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stops and listens. If he expects the drone of old-time radios turned up high -- one of Alan’s more recognisable hobbies, he doesn’t hear a thing. It’s all quiet. Disconcerting.

It’s a mistake.

He knocks, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Here, in the darkest corner of the corridor, a shadow does climb up his hand, fingers turning frostbitten blue then black and back again. He plays with the colours for a minute, lets himself get lost in the contrasts as a faint _Be right there!_ comes from inside. Todd’s out of practice but there is _some_ joy to newfound control, how he never lets the darkness swallow any more than he wants, doesn’t allow a sudden drop in temperature to take hold either.

With Ian Karkull and Mordru gone, with the Shadowlands so far behind him, Todd feels like he’s walked into unseen reality, the right side of the looking glass.

And, finally, a sign of life. There’s locks turning, deadbolts and latches. It nearly startles a laugh out of Todd, he wouldn’t have taken Alan for _paranoid_ , of all things. His stomach, on the other hand, is just short of a full blown routine after the somersaults it’s been doing. Reluctant, he quits the shadow play.

The moment of truth sort of comes and goes, passes Todd by in a hurry.

“Jennie, did you leave some-- _Oh_.”

It’s easy to forget how damn tall Alan is. Between the collar and the cape, the ring and the penchant for hovering above the crowds, it always catches Todd by surprise. Alan’s a solid wall, standing in the doorway in unassuming khakis and a polo shirt. It’s laughable. It’s rendered Todd frozen in place. The lack of mask startles, too. They’ve got the same blue eyes. Alan’s too _blond_ for any other family resemblance.

Todd can’t quite believe he’s made it this far.

Both flounder at the improbable.

If nothing else, Todd’s ready to bolt. He eyes the elevator meaningfully, still _so_ close, and can’t help thinking that, if one were to get technical about it, he’s accomplished his goal for the day. He _saw_ Alan. He’s looking right at him. Isn’t that all he wants? It’s the closest he’s gotten since the train ride back to Metropolis, stilted conversation after those interminable months in the hospital, and that first -- and last -- Christmas with the whole family. He likes to play it off but therapy _had_ helped; enough that, years on, he still can barely imagine the courage it’d taken to blurt out what he had on the train.

More than anything, he remembers the way Alan had recoiled like he’d been punched and braced himself for more. Todd, eventually, had gotten a pat on the shoulder. A _pat_ on the _shoulder_ , like Alan hadn’t even--

“Todd!” he exclaims, at last, like it’s taken him the better part of this too long moment to recognise his own son. Against reason, Todd is pulled into a hug, abruptly enveloped in the warmth of Alan. He smells like cologne, something deep and rich and woodsy, nothing like the one he and Damon share. Underneath, there’s a whiff of smoke, not the occasional stray cigarette but Alan’s own green fire. He remembers it well enough, even through the haze of Obsidian.

By the time Alan steps back, Todd’s yet to make himself move. He would’ve liked to hug back. It seems redundant, now.

Instead, he steps inside, lets Alan fiddle with the locks while he takes a look around.

Jennie calls it _The Penthouse_. Capitals perpetually implied. At first sight, and beyond, Todd’s sure there must be sadder-looking bachelor pads out there in the world, he just can’t immediately think of any. Frankly, even the one room he’d rented in Milwaukee during his breakdown-slash-road-trip had been less--

Well.

Pathetic. That’s definitely one word that comes to mind.

It’s airy in the way floor-to-ceiling windows tend to encourage, plenty of sunlight and plenty of space for emergency landings. From there, try as he might, Todd finds very little redeemable in this brisk dive downhill. There’s boxes everywhere, mostly unopened and aggressively duct-taped together a hundred times over, some even go as far as to bring police tape into the mix. He frowns, perplexed. A couple of the boxes, haphazardly placed around Alan’s singular couch and moth-eaten armchair, read _FRAGILE_ in rushed, rounded letters. Todd hasn’t spent enough time around Alan to learn the intricacies of his handwriting but he suspects _he’s_ not the culprit.

“Moving out?” he asks, a touch of genuine concern despite his best efforts.

Alan, who’s gone around to the little kitchenette taking up less than half of the open-plan concept they’re working with here and looking like it’s come straight out of a 1960’s magazine spread -- equally untouched, too, seems pleasantly amused by the interruption. “In,” he says, shrugging.

“Um, okay.”

Todd considers that with no real charity. As far as he knows, Alan’s been living here for fifteen years and counting, ever since he and their mother had separated on less than amicable terms. A memory of Jay, of all people, trying to make amends often stirs at the subject.

“Do you want coffee?” Alan asks, just a little awkward. It’s always odd seeing it on him, ill-fitting as if men of his stature, men who’ve saved the world, should be able to hold their own. “You can have the mug. I’ve got plastic cups around here somewhere.”

“ _The_ mug,” Todd repeats, blinking. “You’ve only got one?”

“I don’t have many guests.”

Right.

Like that explains anything at all.

He’s teetering on the very edge of disbelief, can’t quite reconcile the father he’s never known nor the original Green Lantern with _this_ Alan Scott. He agrees to the coffee, unable to come up with anything left to lose, and sits when prompted, right on the couch’s plaid slipcover. Nothing matches. There isn’t a single TV in sight yet Todd can spot at least five radios in his vicinity, generously antique-looking. He’s got so much to ask, a desire that burns so bright it cancels itself out.

Todd sits and does not, despite all available evidence, understand what he’s gotten himself into.

As it turns out, Alan’s an instant coffee connoisseur. It’s not a fact Todd can easily get over. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to burst out laughing so bad. Disbelief grows and spills over.

From his vantage point on the couch, he spots another row of boxes, this time labelled _DOIBY_. If it’s an acronym, it’s not one he can readily decipher. Todd tilts his head, curious, and looks up at Alan as he makes his way back from the kitchenette, setting down a _JSA_ mug and the promised plastic cup. “Hey, what’s that? Doiby?” is what makes it out from the jumbled mess of questions still swirling around his head. Safe ground, hopefully.

“A friend,” Alan says, carefully neutral. He’s sat down on the armchair, much more real than he’s ever seemed before. “Doiby and I lived together for years, back in the day. He passed recently, I wasn’t able to-- I didn’t know until after the funeral.” He clasps his hands together. Todd doesn’t know what to make of it. It _must_ mean something, pieces of his father’s mythology, his mother’s disdain. Then, the moment fades and Alan takes a sip of coffee like nothing’s changed. “How have you been doing, son?”

 _Son_.

It should thrill him, Todd thinks.

Mostly, he’d quite like to scream. He feels the faraway tug of the Shadowlands and is amazed at how deep the betrayal runs. “Alan, I’ve left you voicemails like, daily because you won’t pick up the--”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call me--”

“Why are you avoiding _me_!”

There it is. All cards on the table. Todd immediately regrets it, desperate to melt into the dark. It’d barely been a question, too much like _before_ , too much like Karkull and Mordru are still calling the shots. For once in his life, he just wants the truth and nothing more. Already agitated, he risks the coffee and finds out just where Jennie gets her atrocious taste from.

For his part, Alan falters and seems to sink into the unknown. He’s blunt, Todd knows he is, but he’s dwelling on something here, weighing his options. More than anything, it’s that awkwardness again, just as startling on a second glimpse.

“I don’t have anything against your… lifestyle,” is, inexplicably, what he settles on.

Todd stares.

It takes a special kind of restraint not to lunge at Alan. He _could_ , he knows a great lawyer if worse comes to worst. God, he’s-- just a little off-balance. That’s all. Todd runs a hand through his hair, breathes in deeply and reminds himself that nothing’s keeping him here, he could just leave, never call again, go on with his life. Like Alan once had. Hah. _That’s_ funny. “Holy shit,” he mumbles.

“Language.”

“My _lifestyle_?” He can just leave. Right now. He can just _leave_. Instead, Todd puts the mug down and meets Alan’s eyes. It doesn’t last long, Alan himself looks away first, chronically unreadable.

“I just meant,” he hesitates and then, against his best interest, Alan pushes on, “Many people your age experiment. Al Rothstein, for example, and now he’s seeing Beatriz.”

Certainly even Alan’s gotta be aware of the edge he’s walking here. Todd scoffs, indignant and, somewhere underneath all this false bravado, afraid. Severing ties is rarely easy and never painless, he’s got enough blood on his hands to last a lifetime and he doesn’t want-- can’t imagine being thrown back.

“I thought you’d be _happy_ ,” he admits. “Damon’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Alan. I just wanted to… I don’t know, share the news with you? Let you know I’m not trying to kill myself or destroy a city every goddamn chance I get?”

He wants it to cut deep, maybe it even does. Alan falls quiet and Todd, restless, takes another opportunity to look around. He doesn’t go far, stands by the windows and bathes in the sun and doesn’t feel a single twinge, no quickfire shrapnel where the light touches. It’s a welcome change, one he’s still getting used to years on. There’s always that moment of uncertainty, permanently steeling himself like _this_ time it’s gonna hurt. It never does, these days.

Beyond the windows and out onto the modest balcony, Todd catches sight of takeout remnants -- Thai, as far as he can tell, and pizza from Capelli’s in New York. Uncle Ted must’ve been around recently, he guesses.

“You weren’t supposed to be like me,” Alan whispers. If the roar of Gotham’s traffic outside had been louder, if there’d been sirens, Todd wouldn’t have heard a word. It’s a familiar sentiment, though he can’t immediately place it. He stands icily and again, doesn’t know what it means, where he’s meant to put it. The pieces don’t fit and he’s growing tired of Alan’s puzzles. Todd needs nothing but the truth and there might be nothing like the truth here.

That last Christmas together, Courtney Whitmore of Stargirl fame had made a surprise appearance at dinner and afterwards, clumsy and earnest in the way all sixteen year olds tend to be despite themselves, she’d pulled Todd aside. She was concerned, apparently, about what she’d seen in the Shadowlands, back when she and Captain Marvel had been stuck in Alan’s nightmare. The visions Courtney had described, well, they reeked of guilt. That’s where Todd’s heard it before, he’s sure of it now.

 _You weren’t supposed to be like me_.

“Like what?”

He can’t resist asking. Alan, too, has abandoned his coffee. In fact, his head’s in his hands and something in Todd’s heart clenches just enough. _I did this_ , he thinks and there’s no satisfaction to quiet the churning in his gut.

“Why do you think me and Molly didn’t work out?” Alan says it like it hurts, pain endured through clenched teeth though Todd’s seen what he can take in battle.

Time freezes or, at the very least, slows down. Seconds trickle like molasses and neither moves. Todd can hear the blood rushing in his ears, the world narrowing down to this moment alone. His own father. It’s clear, now, Alan cannot disown what is his and the wound of a closely-guarded secret bleeds still, leaves a trail through the ages. In this haze, Todd’s stumbled back to the couch, landing closer to Alan than intended, close enough to touch. It strikes him that he’s being trusted with the immensity of an unrealised self and maybe Alan’s never been there without the threat of death hanging over their heads but it’s _something_.

It’s more than he could’ve hoped for.

He touches Alan’s arm, unwittingly flinches back when he looks up, grief in his eyes. “You’re… ?” Todd asks. He has to.

“It’s such a lonely life,” Alan starts, sounding nothing like himself, wet like he’s holding back tears -- but he _can’t_ be, Todd thinks, hysterical -- and an eternity of shame, “Men like-- _you_ don’t have it easy. I’m only trying to protect you, Todd. That’s all.”

 _Men like us_ is what he means, surely.

Todd doesn’t know what Alan’s seen, what he’s lived through to end here but he tries to understand some modicum of it. At the very least, he’d like to. He doesn’t bring up the nights spent drifting off to his mother crying in the other room, the missed birthdays, the disappearances, the years spent playing favourites with Jennie. “Why haven’t you told anyone? You left mom over a decade ago. I thought you’d found someone, I thought that’s why you’d just-- gone.”

Thumbing at his ring, steadying his nerves, Alan hesitates. “It’s harder when you’re older, son,” he says, practically a whisper, “Harder to begin.”

And that’s the catch, isn’t it?

Todd aches to shake him awake, tell Alan there’s nothing wrong with them, no reason to be protected from the one sliver of happiness he’s ever encountered. He doesn’t. Instead, he thinks back to Alan’s few words of intended-but-not-quite-managed reassurance when he had first started therapy, something about how he’d tried seeing a doctor once after the HUAC hearing the JSA had been subjected to, how he hadn’t quite _gotten the gist of it_. In hindsight, Todd might not have been too far off. Alan Scott _is_ a product of his time.

“It doesn’t have to be! Damon knows about Obsidian and he’s fine with it, _I’m_ fine with it,” Todd insists, half-pleading.

He could salvage this, the burnt scraps of an actual relationship with his father.

If only Alan would let him.

Alan, who says nothing and seems to be clinging to his silence in the absence of tears. Todd doesn’t mean to but he pushes because he’s good at it. He’d been a hero once, he knows how the whole _I know what’s best for you_ business goes. It’s not that. At best, it’s hope. At worst, he’s being naive. Could easily go either way. “Does anyone else know? Jay? Uncle Ted?”

Hell, Jennie could know. There’s very little Jennie doesn’t know.

“No.” Alan’s shaking his head, hoarse. “God, no.”

Okay. Todd can work with that, he’s always wanted Alan’s trust, he’s evidently got it now. There is, however, a sort of dawning awareness here that this could easily be the first time Alan’s said it out loud. It’s starting to sound like it, definitely, and he hasn’t even-- he hasn’t really _said_ it. Maybe it’s the shadows he trusts Todd with. Alan’s kept this close to his heart for decades, longer than most people have been _alive_. It stings to comprehend the extent of it, harder still to navigate it.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

A little more mournful than he’d aimed for. They’ve lost so much time together.

“I’m not disappointed in you, Todd, I’m just sorry I’ve failed you,” Alan says, forcefully firm and cutting off any complaints, “Again. Sorry I’ve failed you _again_.” He sighs. “I think you should go, I’ll-- I promise I’ll pick up the phone next time you’re in town.”

Just like that they’re back on track. That’s more of the usual and Todd, crestfallen, is surprised there’s no whiplash from the sudden turn.

Alan looks the same as he did a minute ago -- embarrassed, grieving, fighting hard to keep himself in check. A strand of hair falls over his forehead where he’s been running his fingers through it and up close, there’s just the barest hint of white amongst the blond. A man out of time.

“Alan,” and he nearly says _dad_ , “I live here. My boyfriend is the new DA. Damon Matthews? I thought Jennie told you.”

“Oh.”

There is, of course, always the possibility that Jennie had said it and Alan simply hadn’t wanted to hear it. It wouldn’t be the first time. He takes _boyfriend_ as gracefully as a particularly low blow and rolls with it only belatedly.

Maybe it’s high time Todd’s left. These things take time getting used to, he knows it better than most.

“Look, the JSA is having a get-together some time next week for Carter’s birthday,” Alan starts, pinching the bridge of his nose, slow like he’s been wrung-out, “You should come, bring, um, Damon. Your sister’s gonna be there, Sandy, a couple others. Ted misses you.”

Todd nearly laughs. Alright. _Ted_ misses him.

He knows an out when he’s being handed one on a plate. Alan needs some space, that’s fine, there’s been _progress_ , enough that he doesn’t feel he’s wasted his Saturday on an agonising, meaningless trip. He won’t forget the trust. “Sure, yeah.” Todd smiles without consulting himself on the matter and something in his heart’s eased, “I’ll ask, see if we have any plans.”

If it’s a new normal, Todd’s had plenty of those before. He’s made it through every single one.

Alan walks him to the door, a little less untouchable All-American Hero, a little more Todd’s father. It’s a start, hard to ask for more after a lifetime of empty promises. “I’m glad you’re doing well,” Alan says as he lays a hand on Todd’s shoulder, huge and warm even through his shirt. They share a faint smile, shaky still.

God, they’re _here_.

They’ve made it this far, safe in the sunlight. He thinks he might just understand the benefits of Alan’s penthouse, might just see a home beyond the boxes and the dire furniture and the mismatched carpets on scratched hardwood floor. The light changes it, rearranges it.

“Me too,” Todd admits. He leans in and hugs Alan before he can think better of it.

Just this once, they’ve got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from "edges of the world" from fun home (I had a life I thought I understood/I took it and I squeezed out every bit of life I could/But the edges of the world that held me up have gone away/And I'm falling into nothingness/Or flying into something so sublime)  
> \- alan's secretary eileen DOES in fact exist and he makes her cry in all star comics #68 (where he also attempts to destroy an airport, as one does)  
> \- my preferred alan characterisation is forefront expert in the Asshole Of The Year industry  
> \- TODD CALLS TED "UNCLE TED" IN JSA 80 PAGE GIANT 2010 (where he & damon are also looking into adopting a child) AND I'VE NEVER GOTTEN OVER IT  
> \- the hal and hank thing is, of course, a ref to parallax and extant  
> \- al rothstein (atom smasher) asks todd if he's in love with him in justice league america (1996) #110  
> \- yes alan obviously had the worst crush on doiby and if doiby didnt look Like That you bet there'd be a billion essays about the gaycoding there
> 
> HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!!! PLEASE TALK TO ME @UFONAUT ON TUMBLR


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